


No Unringing the Bell

by mrozin



Series: sagukai creations challenges [3]
Category: Magic Kaito
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Racism, aoko is there in spirit and also texts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrozin/pseuds/mrozin
Summary: FAKE DATING AU BABEY!!!!“Why are you standing out here like a creep?” Kuroba-kun asks baldly.“Ah...my nan’s in town,” Saguru says. He realizes this isn’t much of an explanation to anyone who doesn’t know his nan and elaborates. “I find her exceedingly exhausting and I’ve just made a rather rebellious exit. I...thought this was Aoko-san’s house?”“Wow,” Kuroba-kun says, sounding faintly awed. “She hasn’t been here for one night yet and already the stick’s back up your ass.”





	No Unringing the Bell

**Author's Note:**

> round 3 of the sagukai creations challenge! i just figured out that ive been forgetting to put my prompt in the notes. oops. ik i put it in the summary but this one was fake dating au 
> 
> same universe as (⌐▨_▨) bcos why not! unedited
> 
> TW: heavily implied/referenced abuse, racism

Saguru stumbles loudly down the stairs of the Manor, fresh off of a several day case-and-schoolwork bender, his hands already curling as if around a phantom cup of warm coffee. He’s been making do with the hopefully-safe remains of forgotten cups strewn throughout his room. Coffee -- hot coffee, coffee that _steams_ \-- sounds godly. His mum corners him as his hits the last step.

“Your nan is in the kitchen with Charlotte. We’re having dinner in five minutes. You will be polite. Make yourself presentable,” she says. 

It’s a very interesting thing for a person who is supposed to be in England to say. While standing inside his house. In Japan. 

“Mmf…? When did you get here?” Saguru asks, feeling vaguely poleaxed. He gropes at his hip for his pocketwatch and discovers he has no idea where it is. “Why is Nan with Baaya in the kitchen? It’s dinnertime? What?”

“Clean _up,_ ” Mum hisses. 

“‘S ma’am,” Saguru says, and turns around and cleans up. 

He comes back down seven minutes later looking appropriately stiff and starched to find the never-used dining room table set and sparkling. Fresh burning candles and gleaming plates he’s never seen used are arranged atop a delicately embroidered table skirt. Saguru, who has grown into the habit of snatching frozen meals in his bed whenever he happens to remember that eating is a necessity, pretends he is in no way intimidated by the setup. 

Lord, he hopes he remembers which of the cutlery to use.

“Come sit, darling,” Mum smiles, breaking him out of a daydream involving exactly how ruthlessly Kuroba-kun would mock him for thinking such a ‘fuckhead richboy’ thought. 

“Of course,” Saguru says. He squeezes Mum’s upper arm fondly and seats himself beside her. “Mum, Nan. What an unexpected delight.”

Mum shoots him a confused look, then turns to Nan. “She told your father we were coming, yes?”

“I saw no reason to speak to that man,” Nan says, and then moves smoothly along. “How are you studies coming along, Samuel?”

“Acceptably,” Saguru says truthfully. If he also says it around clenched teeth, well, no one has ever accused him of liking his nan. “I’m near top of my class. And I prefer to be called Saguru while in Japan.”

Nan scoffs. “I’ll call you by your proper name. I would think top marks would come easily, if your mum’s bragging is to be believed.” 

Mum stomps on his foot before the incensed _my what_ can escape, the table skirt hiding the movement. Saguru smiles painfully and does as he’s been bid, letting the glow of his mum’s apparent pride wash away Nan’s insults.

“I have a few rivals,” he says, feeling his face relax into a genuine smile. Kuroba-kun and Aoko-san are truly some of the most intelligent people he’s ever met. 

“Oh?” Nan says, eyeing his expression. 

Saguru tucks it neatly away. “We happen to be...friends. Of sorts.”

“Really?” Mum asks, surprised. “From what you tell me of that Kaito boy, I thought you hat--” a glance at Nan, “ah, detested him.”

“Oh, I do,” Saguru assures her. He leans forward, elbows on the table, which Mum quickly slap off. “However, he’s sharp, quick-minded, and versatile. I know for a fact that he doesn’t study, yet he still makes fantastic marks -- and what’s infuriating is that he plays with his scores. Figures out what percentages to get in order to reach a specific average every grading period, sometimes down to the exact decimal. I’ve seen him doing upper level college coursework during class on several different occasions, for no discernable reason other than boredom, mostly on mechanical engineering. And though academically he’s near perfect, as far as I can tell, his life and interpersonal skills haven’t suffered at all; he exceeds in those areas as well, almost scarily so, to the point that he regularly manipulates swathes of people in order to achieve mundane goals, also presumably out of boredom. I once watched him initiate a three-day chain manipulation involving twelve classmates, five peers from another room, and one teacher. The end result was a girl he had never once interacted with returning a pencil case to him -- dropped purposefully, of course -- in front of her crush, who then believed her to be a kind person, and decided to ask her on a date. Ah...in any case, he’s an interesting person. And to my knowledge, Aoko-san and I are his only intellectual equals.”

Mum blinks at this verbal wall of data and speculation, then passes over it entirely to hum at him with the glint of heterosexuality in her eye. “Aoko-san, hmm?” 

Saguru levels a bland stare at her. “Mum. No. It’s not like that. I respect her intellectual and physical prowess. She goes after Kuroba-kun with a mop near daily.”

“Physical prowess, hmm?” Mum hums again, eyebrows raised teasingly.

“When _are_ you going to get a nice girlfriend, Samuel? People might start thinking things of you soon,” Nan breaks in to say. She looks around, as though remembering where she is. “Though I can understand waiting until you’re back where the good ones are,” she adds. 

His mother sends him a quelling look. Unfortunately for her, Saguru is currently holding a sleep deficit of roughly one billion hours, and in no mood to trade verbal blows with his Nan across an expensive dining set. He decides he’s had quite enough of this and takes a moment to spear one last bite of the meal he won’t be finishing. 

“If the girls are anywhere as charming as you in England,” he says, patting his mouth with a napkin to hide his nervous smile, “then I do believe the ‘good ones’ are all right here. Excuse me.”

He takes advantage of the shocked silence to make his escape, passing Baaya on his way. 

“Save me,” he hisses. “I’ve just cocked up the meal.”

“Of course, Bocchama.” says lovely, loyal Baaya, who Saguru will love and respect for the rest of his life. 

She speedwalks with him to the cars and hits the gas just as he slams his door shut. They’re peeling out of the driveway in seconds. 

“Where to, Bocchama?”

Saguru freezes. “I, ah, hadn’t thought.”

Baaya treats him to the worst bout of judgemental silence he’s ever experienced in the perfect blend of Japanese and English manner. Nan truly has no reason to be racist; all the proof for cultural compatibility she could ever want is right here in this car, wordlessly shaming him to death.

“Baaya,” he says pleadingly, knowing he has no excuse.

Fortunately she has always been soft on him. She smiles and turns on the radio, clearing the oppressive air. 

“I suggest put that lauded mind of yours to good use, Bocchama.”

Ah. Not _too_ soft on him, then. “Of course.”

He pretends to contemplate his options, but he knows already what he’ll ask for. It’s not as though he speaks to many people other than his father, who is currently away on business, and who lives in the house Saguru has just bravely fled. 

“Do you remember the way to Aoko-san’s house? I studied with her not too long ago.”

Baaya nods with a smile. “I believe so. You enjoy her company, then?”

“Very much so,” Saguru admits. “She’s an intelligent person, and kind as well.” 

He winces, thinking of her (admittedly provoked) attacks on Kuroba-kun. “Mostly.”

“I see. I’m glad that you are finding friends here,” Baaya says. She sends him a look -- her usual blend of stern and kind -- and in the process swerves out of her lane entirely. Cars honk angrily, tires squealing as people slam their brakes to avoid rear-ending them. 

Saguru smiles at her with a death grip on the door handle. “As am I. Please watch the road.”

She sniffs at him and faces forward again, playing as though slighted. A few taps of her own horn and she slides back into the lane they’re supposed to be in by law. Saguru shakes his head, amused, and pulls out his phone, assuming that Aoko-san would rather he ask ahead before suddenly showing up at her door. 

_To: Aoko !(•̀o•́)ง_  
> Hello. Do you mind if I stay at your house for a couple of hours? In exchange, I can help with any coursework you’re having trouble with.  
> If you’re having trouble with any of it.  
> I didn’t mean to imply you would. I am simply trying to compensate you for your time. 

He puts his phone away before he can make a bigger fool of himself and sings Queen songs with Baaya to kill time while they drive. When he begins to spot landmarks close to Aoko-san’s house that he’d made note of previously, he pulls out his phone again and sends her another text.

_To: Aoko !(•̀o•́)ง  
> I am roughly five minutes away. My apologies for the short notice._

They arrive without acknowledgement. Saguru dithers in the car for three minutes and thirty six seconds before Baaya kicks him out with a pat on the shoulder and a promise to do damage control at the house. He hovers awkwardly for another good ten minutes and seventeen seconds, waiting for Aoko-san to read his messages, before giving up. The lights are on in her house, be doesn’t want to text yet again, fearful of badgering her. 

Maybe she’s ignoring him? She might be too polite to simply say she would rather not host company, and he refuses to lurk outside her home if she doesn’t want him around. Saguru nods resolutely, deciding to walk in a random direction, pretend as though he had never come here, google where the nearest bus line is, and ride it for a few hours. Hopefully by the time night fell any murderous intent at the Manor will have simmered down. Failing that, the dark would help him sneak in, and likely, Baaya would assist him.

Just as he shifts his weight to leave the door jerks open. Kuroba Kaito stares at him with his eyebrows raised, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. His right foot casually crosses his left at the ankle, Saguru notices. It’s unfairly attractive. 

“Why are you standing out here like a creep?” Kuroba-kun asks baldly.

“Ah...my nan’s in town,” Saguru says. He realizes this isn’t much of an explanation to anyone who doesn’t know his nan and elaborates. “I find her exceedingly exhausting and I’ve just made a rather rebellious exit. I...thought this was Aoko-san’s house?”

“Wow,” Kuroba-kun says, sounding faintly awed. “She hasn’t been here for one night yet and already the stick’s back up your ass.”

Saguru reflexively opens his mouth to snap at him and pauses. “I don’t recall informing you of how long she’s been here.”

Kuroba-kun spreads his hands guilelessly. 

“Anyway,” he says, blatantly changing the subject, probably just to piss Saguru off. He knows Kuroba-kun can do better, and Kuroba-kun knows he knows this; that he chooses not to even try annoys Saguru _to no end,_ something he also knows. Saguru breathes out harshly, irritated.

Kuroba-kun is oppressively smug in his direction. “You were right, this is Ass-oko’s place. I’m just house-sitting while she and her dad are off on some father-daughter getaway.”

“I see. And they trusted _you_ to watch it?” Saguru asks doubtfully.

Kuroba-kun laughs and opens the door, motioning him in. Saguru being rude seems to delight and incense him by turns, the pattern of which Saguru has yet to puzzle out. He mentally adds this situation to his 'delight' tally and steps inside, toeing his shoes off.

“Socks are fine,” Kuroba-kun says before he can slip into the guest slippers. “They trust me enough to clean up, at least. But I’m definitely leaving some, heh, surprises.”

“Of course. You are you. Clean up?”

Kuroba-kun leans into his side briefly to close and lock the door, dark hair tickling his jaw, which is simply something Saguru has to breathe through until he pulls away. He retreats further into the house, leaving Saguru alone to deal with his racing pulse.

“Ass-oko and her dad are both cleaning hazards,” Kuroba-kun calls back. “Like, it’s genuinely dangerous. One time they tried to clean the house and mixed bleach and vinegar.”

_“No,”_ Saguru says, more out of horror than any true dubiety. He follows the sound of Kuroba-kun’s voice and finds him in the kitchen, scrubbing at the oven burners. 

“Yeah,” Kuroba-kun says brightly. “Almost gassed themselves, it was great. So every so often I come over and play half-housewife -- Ass-oko covers the other half by feeding me basically every meal. Since I’m putting you up you can help. Start with the counters and then we can tackle the freezer, I swear shit’s gonna start mutating in there soon.”

“Putting me up?” Saguru asks, poking his head under the sink to search for cleaning spray and a roll of paper towels. He won’t be staying that long, but he isn’t going to just muck about while Kuroba-kun cleans. 

“Yeah. Uh, letting you stay here.”

“I know what you meant,” Saguru says, warmed nonetheless by the attempt at clarification. “I mean to say, there is no need. I simply required somewhere to go while things calm down. I haven’t actually been kicked out.”

Kuroba-kun hip-checks him on his way by. “That’s not what it looks like from my end!”

Saguru rolls his eyes and gets to work on the counters. Kuroba-kun is letting Saguru hide out here for a short while, and thus even if he is, for whatever incomprehensible Kuroba reasons, trying to play instigator, it’s impolite to rise to the bait.

They work together quietly for a time, Kuroba-kun sometimes humming snatches of songs, imitating their original singers so well that Saguru checks once or twice that he hasn’t turned a radio on. It’s strangely, pleasantly domestic. Kuroba-kun seems much more...mellow than Saguru is used to seeing him. Whether that’s from the act of cleaning, not being imprisoned in a classroom that can’t hold his attention for more than a second, or something else entirely, Saguru doesn’t know. 

Eventually, of course, Kuroba-kun grows bored enough to start talking again. “So what did your grandma do to run you out, anyway?” 

“Ah,” Saguru says, wondering how to politely word ‘she is horribly racist’, then realizing Kuroba-kun won’t care. “She is horribly racist. And also homophobic, which I suppose I should have suspected.”

He’s watching Kuroba-kun subtly, as he often is, so Saguru sees the way he pauses, a hard expression coming over his face and then smoothing away just as soon. Saguru focuses again on polishing the sink -- he’d finished the countertops with relative ease, for someone who has Baaya to take care of things like cleaning -- before he’s caught staring. 

Hopefully that expression wasn’t because Saguru has wildly misjudged Kuroba-kun’s character and he is actually a pro-gay-bashing areshole, or something equally as uncomfortable. Highly unlikely, considering Kuroba-kun’s...everything. But a healthy dose of anxiety keeps risk-taking detectives alive. 

“She’s racist _at_ you?” Kuroba-kun asks easily, no trace of anger in his voice whatsoever. It’s impressive, and a little bit scary, not that Saguru will ever tell him such. “That’s weird. You’re her family.”

Wryly, Saguru says, “No one ever said racism is sensible.” 

“Guess so,” Kuroba-kun frowns. “And your mom just lets it happen?”

_“Kuroba-kun,”_ Saguru says, exasperated. He hasn’t said anything about his mum visiting with Nan. And while he wouldn’t be surprised if Kuroba-kun has had his house bugged for quite some time, considering their professional ties, mentioning it -- twice in one day no less! -- is gauche, even for him. 

Kuroba-kun cackles, loud and unrepentant, but drops unexpectedly into seriousness. “Really, though. She shouldn’t let her mom stay stuff like that about you. Or your old man, but mostly you, since you’re her kid. It’s not right.”

Saguru thinks on this. He is aware of his tendency to let some of Mum’s more questionable habits slide, due to what he’s picked up about her and Nan’s relationship. His sense of compassion demands it, though...and perhaps his conditioning. But he doesn’t like thinking about that too deeply. 

“I suppose she shouldn’t,” he says eventually. “But I understand why she does, and I know she doesn’t feel the same. And that she loves me.”

He hasn’t been watching Kuroba-kun as he says this, so the _snck_ of the freezer door opening surprises him. The blast of cold air raises bumps on his flesh and sends him shivering. He decides the sink is as shining as it’ll get and joins Kuroba-kun by the freezer with a grimace. It stinks. 

“Eh? Really?” Kuroba-kun asks, head tilted, eyes wide. He grabs something brown and large and dumps it in the bin with sharp, jerky movements. “Do me a favor and never date anybody, then. I’d hate to see what would happen to poor Haku-chan, who thinks loving somebody means its okay to treat them like shit!” 

“You misunderstand,” Saguru says stiffly. 

The faux-innocent look slides off Kuroba-kun’s face like water, leaving it dangerously blank. “Enlighten me, then.”

How demanding. Saguru can feel his shoulders drawing tight in offense, brows coming together. But even so, past the reflexive rage that comes with defending one’s Mum, Saguru can see the intent behind this sudden animosity. Kuroba-kun is angry -- genuinely angry -- on his behalf. Perhaps even concerned. And it’s not as though racism is emotionally neutral ground for either of them anyway.

So he rolls his neck and exhales heavily, letting the tension go, and grabs a hunk of what was once food from the freezer to give himself something to do. He doesn’t want to look at Kuroba-kun while saying this, though he could feel the other’s eyes on him like physical weights. They clear out the freezer together as he talks.

“My nan,” he begins, “was not a good mum. No one ever told me direct, of course. Certainly not Mum herself. Stiff upper lip and all. But,” _smelling a woman’s patchouli perfume while shopping and rushing to the ladies’ room to be ill, flinching violently on the occasion that he accidentally snuck up behind her, sobbing with fear hard enough to gag when she dropped a bowl and it shattered all over the floor, feet cut to ribbons, fingers shaking as she picked up the shards,_ “I am a detective. And I did go through a rather regrettable eavesdropping phase as a child...” 

Kuroba-kun sharpens with interest and Saguru hurries right on past that gleaming little tidbit. “Ah. In any case, Nan left Mum when she was a teenager. No warning, no note; there one night and gone the next morning. Mum never knew her father. She was alone for years, and then after she married, Nan suddenly came back. And despite all that Nan’s done to her, now that she’s here again, Mum is...desperate for a connection. Especially since Nan’s getting on in her years.” 

Silence comes over the kitchen. Saguru bins the last armful of festering waste and says, pointedly, “So, no. She shouldn’t let Nan be racist ‘at’ me -- or be racist at all without contention, really. But I understand why she does.”

Kuroba-kun gives a faint _tch,_ unsatisfied, but doesn’t pursue the topic. And then because he views propriety as something to be discarded whenever convenient or sure to provoke an amusing reaction, he says, “So you’re gay, then?”

Having expected this eventually -- if not directly after a longwinded summary of his mum’s tragic past -- Saguru finally turns toward him and offers a cool smile. He is unsurprised to find Kuroba-kun watching him intently. 

“Bi, actually. Or pansexual. The terminology appears to be fairly interchangeable.” 

“Huh,” Kuroba-kun says. And then does not elaborate. At all. Instead he tugs his phone from his back pocket and immerses himself in it, cleaning apparently put on hold.

Saguru marinates in his acute fear of rejection for a few minutes before a _ping!_ from his own phone distracts him. Grateful for the distraction, he opens it, wondering bemusedly if Kuroba-kun has decided to text him while they are in the same room.

He hasn’t, though that sounds like something he would do. It’s Aoko-san responding to his earlier messages. 

_From: Aoko !(•̀o•́)ง_  
> lolololol  
> im not home u get to deal kai-tool  
> if hes mean theres mops basically everywhere  
> its really funny actually. reach for 1  
> he gets twitchy 

Saguru looks up and notices that, yes, there is a mop in the kitchen. And another propped against the wall of the living room, which he can see if he tilts his head just right. He decides to save menacing Kuroba-kun for later and, feeling mischievous, wonders how to spark a rage in Aoko-san that Kuroba-kun will feel across phone lines. 

Smirking, he types.

_To: Aoko !(•̀o•́)ง_  
> I decided to ride the bus for a couple of hours instead when I didn’t hear back from you. I didn’t want to drop in unannounced.  
> Thank you anyway. Give Kuroba-kun my regards. 

_From: Aoko !(•̀o•́)ง  
> what_

Approximately three seconds later Kuroba-kun’s phone explodes. First with the _pingpingping_ of angry texts, and before he’s even had the chance to read them, with Aoko-san’s ringtone. 

Kuroba-kun accepts the call with a “Ass-oko what the h--” and then is drowned out by the sound of yelling. Aoko-san has very clearly gotten her lungs and vocabulary from her father, if nothing else. Various protests on Kuroba-kun’s end are cut through effortlessly, little _“What--”s_ and _“I didn’t--”s_ that Saguru bites his lip at to keep composed. 

“HE’S _LITERALLY_ RIGHT HERE!” Kuroba-kun yells eventually. 

Saguru breaks. He muffles his laughter in the crook of his elbow, wheezing little hisses and spurts with the occasional rich bark of his actual voice. It’s been a long time since he laughed so freely. 

“Oi, you think this is funny?” Kuroba-kun demands. 

“Y-Yes,” Saguru gasps, “hilarious.”

The phone is shoved angrily into the area between his shoulder and ear, Aoko-san on the other end asking _Kai-tool? Kai-tool? Oi, what do you mean? Oi!_ as Kuroba-kun stomps away, seemingly fed up with them both. Saguru knows a good many of his tells by now, though, and can see him lingering in the living room just within earshot, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his middle and ring fingernails, holding back laughter. 

Saguru smiles into the receiver. “My apologies, Aoko-san. I couldn’t resist.”

_“You two,”_ Aoko growls at him. 

She hangs up. Saguru blinks down at the flashing _CALL ENDED,_ worry diffusing through him slow and steady. Has he pushed too far, childishly interrupting her time with the constantly busy Nakamori-keibu? 

“Uwaa, she likes you,” says Kuroba-kun’s voice from right by his ear. 

Saguru jerks away, heart rabbiting, the skin of his hand clenching white around the cell phone. Kuroba-kun slides him a narrow-eyed look but doesn’t mention it, instead poofing the phone into his own hand and studying the screen, eyebrows raised.

“She’s only rude to people she likes,” he elaborates. “Otherwise it’s all _no problem_ and _don’t worry about it_ and shit like that.” 

Hearing Aoko-san’s voice pitch out of his mouth takes Saguru by surprise no matter how many times Kuroba-kun does it. Even more surprising is that he would so carelessly flaunt yet another skill he shares with the Kid...though supposing Nakamori-keibu knew about it already there wouldn’t be much added risk. 

“Is that so?” Saguru asks, relieved. 

Kuroba-kun tosses a toothbrush at him and Saguru snatches out of the air on reflex. He spares a quick thanks for the years of looking-cool-in-front-of-Kuroba-training the world has given him via life or death situations entirely dependent on his hand-eye coordination. 

“Yeah, so stop making that face and get scrubbing,” Kuroba-kun orders. “The cabinet grooves are killer and I refuse to do them all myself.”

They spend several more hours cleaning and chasing each other about the house, joking and playing wordgames to pass the time. It’s fun. Saguru struggles to admit this to himself, but it is, and he’s trying to cut back on lying to himself -- such a habit is neither healthy nor helpful, especially when attempting to get into the head of a thief who appears to know himself frighteningly well. 

At one point they spend a solid half hour debating the psychological toll of being part of an idol group, which devolves somehow into Kuroba-kun belting out an on the spot medley of the current top-10 pop songs. Kuroba-kun calls it quits soon after. 

“I suppose it’s rather late,” Saguru says, peeking out a window at the dark night sky. 

Kuroba-kun hums agreeably from where he’s pulling on his shoes. “Hey, go grab the futon. Aoko keeps out futon in her closet.”

“...In her room?” Saguru asks. 

Kuroba-kun pauses, remembering that not everyone was raised from birth alongside Aoko-san and is comfortable traipsing into her room while she’s not home. “Oh, right, guess I should get it. You put your shoes on.”

Saguru shifts anxiously. “Hold on, I’m not--” Kuroba-kun disappears upstairs. “--staying over. Damn.”

He pulls his shoes on and lurks awkwardly in the genkan until Kuroba-kun makes his way back down, futon folded beneath his arm. He shoves it at Saguru’s chest as he breezes past, steadfastly ignoring the sputtering and flailing and general sense of outrage.

“There’s enough room by my bed to set it up,” he says, closing and locking the door and poofing the keys away. 

Kuroba-kun starts walking and Saguru, with no other choice, tails him. “Yes, I’m sure, however--” 

“We have some movies if you’re bored but I dunno if you’re capable of liking anything other than Sherlock,” Kuroba-kun says, unlocking a door with the same keyring.

“I assure you I am. However--”

“We have snacks but they’re at Aoko’s and honestly I’m not walking back over there for you, so just, I dunno, pretend we don’t have any.”

“Kuroba-kun!” Saguru snaps, taking a moment to relish the startled pause. Then, calm, he continues, “I am not staying over.”

Kuroba-kun cocks his head. “What are you talking about? You’re already here.”

Blinking, Saguru looks around. He realizes suddenly that yes, they’re in Kuroba-kun’s house, and though he doesn’t remember taking his shoes off he can see them lined up neatly in the genkan. 

Kuroba-kun’s voice comes from halfway up the stairs. “Also, I’m the one with the keys!”

“Every time I turn around, I swear,” Saguru grumbles, following him grudgingly.

Kuroba-kun’s room is more normal than Saguru was expecting it to be; a bed, a desk, a corkboard. Assorted furniture -- chair, small bookcase, lamp, bedside table. Not even any mess from practicing magic or small parts from assorted engineering projects Saguru knows Kuroba-kun to be working on, thanks to his habitual bouts of revenge-stalking. 

In fact, the only strange thing is what appears to be a life-sized portrait of Kuroba-kun’s late father which, in such a suspiciously average room, seems so glaringly incongruous that Saguru is afraid to even look at it. The thing’s probably booby trapped to all hell. 

“Just at the foot of the bed there,” Kuroba-kun says, kicking his rolling chair out of the way. 

Saguru edges past the portrait and lays out the futon as directed, absentmindedly watching Kuroba-kun squint at his desk, sucks his teeth, and dial Aoko-san. 

She picks up the phone with a rude, “What?”

“Stop going through my desk you raccoon woman,” Kuroba-kun says, irate.

He then immediately hangs up and tosses his phone onto his pillow, ignoring the nine successive calls Aoko-san bombards him with. Saguru busies himself with smoothing out the blanket Kuroba-kun tosses him to avoid the twitch of humor at his lips. He realizes, abruptly, that he has no change of clothes. 

“Kuroba-kun--” he begins. A bundle of cloth hits him in the face.

“I’ll take the bathroom,” Kuroba-kun says. He’s gone before Saguru’s finished fumbling with his clothes. 

Laid out on the bed, the clothes are much easier to study. Saguru looks them over closely, expecting some sort of trick, but again Kuroba-kun surprises him. There’s nothing. Just a soft pair of checkered pyjama trousers and a plain red t-shirt. Saguru tugs them both on, bundling up a whole range of messy feelings about wearing Kuroba-kun’s clothing and shoving them into the corner of his brain where all the gay pining goes.

“Thank you,” he says when Kuroba-kun walks back in. 

It comes out more quick and forceful than he’d meant it to. Saguru winces, but all Kuroba-kun doesn’t seem to have noticed, busy instead with eyeing the couple inches of Saguru’s bared ankle. 

“They’re short on you,” he says, clicking his tongue. 

They’re also scandalously tight around Saguru’s hips, thighs, and crotch area, but if Kuroba-kun isn’t going to mention it he won’t either. 

“Yes. But they’re more comfortable than the dress pants, so I’m grateful regardless,” he says, kneeling down onto the futon. 

Kuroba-kun’s eyes drop with him before he turns away sharply, flicking the light off and crawling into his own bed. 

“‘Night,” he says, suddenly curt.

“Goodnight,” Saguru returns. 

For a few blessed minutes the room fills with the sound of quiet breathing and faint outside noise. Then Kuroba-kun begins to shift restlessly. Saguru times it out of habit; one shift at four minutes, thirteen seconds; another at eleven minutes, twenty-six seconds; a rash of them at fourteen minutes, fifty-four seconds. At thirty minutes, fourty-seven seconds Saguru runs a hand down his face.

“What,” he asks flatly. 

Kuroba-kun swings around so that his head is where he feet should be and vice versa. Listening to him shuffle, Saguru sighs and comes to terms with the fact that he will be missing yet more sleep on account of Kuroba-kun’s brilliant, frenetic, endlessly aggravating mind.

“So when’s your mom and grandma leaving?” Kuroba-kun asks. 

Saguru grimaces faintly at his grammar but answers anyway. “I’m not certain; we hadn’t the chance to discuss it. When today did they arrive?”

“About three in the afternoon,” Kuroba-kun answers casually. 

Saguru reaches up, flicks his forehead for knowing this, and ignores his offended squawking. “From past behavior, I can say with sixty-seven percent accuracy that they will stay for three days, not including today.”

“I love how politely you say ‘I devastated her in a single sentence and dipped’,” Kuroba-kun tells him, rubbing at his forehead. “‘We hadn’t the chance to discuss it.’ Classic.”

“Please stop making references to however you’ve gotten past the Manor’s security systems,” Saguru says, pretending it’s dry English wit and not a near-beg. “It’s bad for my health.”

“You know what else is bad for your health?” Kuroba-kun asks, ignoring him. He folds his arms and leans his cheek on them, head tilted to keep Saguru in his line of sight. “Slighted grandmas. Hopelessly scandalized grandmas, though, those are harmless.”

Saguru eyes him suspiciously, saying nothing. Kuroba-kun takes this as a sign to delve into his sales pitch. Saguru knows, in his bones, that whatever mad idea this is, he’ll cave to it -- he once watched Kuroba-kun weasel permission for three days of skiving off out of their first period teacher, _and_ convince her to give him full marks for the missed assignments while he was at it. Capitulating to him is quite literally only a matter of time. But Saguru at least wants one thing to be acknowledged first.

So before Kuroba-kun can get started he holds up a silencing hand and says, “I realize you are simply taking advantage of my situation to incite chaos.”

Kuroba-kun stares at him with devilishly amused eyes. He neither confirms nor contradicts -- just watches tolerantly, as if waiting for a child to be finished explaining something he already knew, or something that was entertaining in its incorrectness. 

Saguru lets his hand fall. “That established, what are we doing?”

Kuroba-kun tilts his head down, fingers coming up to pull at his bangs as though tugging the brim of a phantom hat. Saguru twitches with the instinct to grab and hold. Thrown mostly into shadow with only the blue of his eyes and white of his teeth visible, he looks exactly like a decision Saguru shouldn’t be making. 

Unfortunately for everyone around him Saguru has always been good at doing the exact most inadvisable thing possible. 

“Come up here,” Kuroba-kun says, spinning himself the right way around and wriggling over to make room. 

Saguru feels his way up to the walled-in corner of the bed and settles in, watching Kuroba-kun watch him. The thief is comfortable enough to have a detective in his bed -- the phrasing of which, even in his own head, turns Saguru’s cheeks into pools of heat and makes him feverishly grateful for the dim lighting -- but not enough to be caged in.

“So?” Saguru prompts. 

Tension that Saguru hadn’t noticed, running all through Kuroba-kun’s body, melts away. Not so comfortable then...? Or at least, not until this very moment. How curious. 

_“So,”_ Kuroba-kun parrots, and the rest of the night is lost to scheming.

**Author's Note:**

> that girl from sagurus super gay kaito rant? her crush was a girl whose most valued personality trait is honor, so when she gave kaito his pencil case her crush was like WOW I GOTTA ASK HER OUT RIGHT NOW and she did. theyre happily dating and having their own crazy adventures, mostly to do with magic. akako’s developed a fondness for kaito (which she finds tragic and annoying) so she plays pseudo-villain in their story to release tension whenever she feels to urge to do something mildly evil
> 
> from the same rant: saguru doesn’t notice because he’s focused in on kaito so hard but aoko also manipulates her gpa. she and kaito made a game of it that they’ve played with each other since middle school 
> 
> on the racism aspect, i tried to reflect the nuance of the situation and how i think saguru & kaito wld react as japanese people and as themselves; however, as a random white dude in the US im not exactly a cultural expert, and its possible that ive been offensive. if youve got an issue with anything lmk! im always open to other ppls perspectives 
> 
> if you want extra content you can hit up my tumlblr [mrozind](https://mrozind.tumblr.com/)! :>


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